Too Much Cherry Firewhiskey
by Hexar
Summary: It's Valentine's Day. McGonagall and Snape are locked up in a party. There is a lot of firewhiskey on the table. And Albus Dumbledore happens to interrupt at the most awkward of moments. ONESHOT: MCGONAGALL X SNAPE


Albus Dumbledore had always loved Valentine's Day.

It was fascinating how suddenly the hallways of Hogwarts were teeming with lovebirds, the tables not split by house but by relationships: how so many students found the courage to send their crushes a card on this very day, how so many couples got together in the spirit of love.

Albus, though never one for romance himself, had always prided himself in his ability to spot the tendrils of attraction blossoming between people. Last year, he'd sent exactly 29 anonymous cards that brought together 28 happy couples (the last one never reached the poor girl: a Howler next to her had exploded, catching that fateful little gesture in its raging path.

This year, though, he wanted to set his standards a little higher.

Albus, though of course one that all professors admired and respected, had never quite been a part of that intricate bond that wove all the teachers together. So he'd made it his special mission to hook up his favorite 'ship' from the staff room (he had become rather partial to the fascinating Muggle term).

He had noticed that Sybill had quite a thing going on for Flitwick, though she was so distant that not many people noticed the fact that she was always staring at the Queen of Hearts every time he walked by. He knew for a fact that Charity Burbage fancied Lockhart, along with most of the female population of the school. And he was pretty sure that Filch was positively hankering after Pomona, bless him.

But what he considered his OTP (maybe he'd been overdosing on the fanfiction) was none of these. Call him crazy, but ever since the two had met each other, he'd wanted Minnie and Severus to end up together.

Maybe it was more than fate that sent the large bottle of concentrated Firewhiskey to his office the morning of February the 14th.

"Oh, go on," Filius said, hiccoughing. He held out a bottle of Firewhiskey to Minerva, who pushed it back in disdain.

"No, thank you," she said severely, tightening the bun fastened at the nape of her neck.

"Minerva, m'dear, how do you expect to find a special someone if you don't even have one drink for tradition's sake?" Gilderoy smiled cheekily at her, pressing a glass of ombre liquid into her hands. "You'll never win Witch Weekly's Best Smile if you don't have fun once in a while! Now, take me. I am serious about my work, but when I party, I let my hair down... so to speak," he said, patting down his golden locks with a toothy smile.

She hissed, setting the wine onto the nearest table. "Excuse me, _Gilderoy_," she said, her nostrils flaring as she retreated quickly.

To her despair, the moment she escaped from Lockhart, she ran into the clutches of none other than Severus Snape.

"Watch where you're going, Minerva," he said coldly.

"Sorry," she apologized. Despite the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry, the two heads of houses had maintained a civil, almost _friendly _relationship. "I was fleeing from Lockhart."

He smiled- if you could call it a smile- grimly. "Ah, yes, that explains it. No matter," he said. Both of them (and the rest of the staff room) were in total agreement that the newest DADA teacher was, to put it crudely, a pain in the butt.

"Well, I must be going," Minerva said hastily. "I have papers to mark. The Weasley twins, cheeky things, handed in a ten-foot-long paper each just to annoy me." She sighed, though it was obvious that a hint of a smile threatened to take over her normally-austere face.

Snape shook his head in disgust, but didn't leave. Instead he watched the Transfiguration professor head for the doorway with a curious expression on his face. She pushed the door open, and made to exit, but seemed to be stuck. Snape looked on as Minerva tried to shove through the door, but to no avail: he knew that there was-

"An invisible barrier? Who is responsible for this... this... atrocity?" Minerva snarled, stalking back to Severus. Her remarkably feline expression would've scared any sane man, but not him.

"Dumbledore," he said, shrugging.

She seethed. "The nerve!"

"Well," Snape said silkily, "I suppose, since we are, effectively, locked in-" Minerva growled venomously, "we could go and get a drink each."

"Oh, alright," she said, finally relenting. She followed the sallow Potions master over to the table that sported a splendid selection of Firewhiskey (plum, cherry and chocolate varieties), Butterbeer (pepper and even gumdrop, for the more experimental) and a huge casket of an unidentifiable, strong-smelling black liquid (courtesy of Hagrid) that nobody had dared to try yet.

"Cherry Firewhiskey, Minerva?"

"Yes, please," she said, frowning. How did Severus Snape know that that was her favorite kind? He poured her some of the bright amber liquid with ease, and ladled some of the plum-flavored stuff into another glass for himself.

She took a sip of the sweet liquid. Her mouth characteristically started burning, but she didn't really notice it. After all, Firewhiskey was an acquired taste.

"You seem to be thirsty," Severus noted with interest, glancing at her empty glass. Minerva glanced down, blushing, unaware that she'd drained all of her drink in one shot. "There's more where that came from. Apparently, nobody else likes the cherry version." He almost grinned at the indignant look on McGonagall's face.

She refilled her glass, using her wand this time (admittedly, she wasn't as handy with huge glass bottles as her fellow professor was) and took another great, gulping sip. Refill. Drink. Refill. Drink.

"Aren't you taking this a little too seriously?" Severus asked, amused. He himself had only just started on his second glass.

"I don't-_hic-_get drunk easily-_hic_!" she said, gasping for air as she emptied her glass for the fifth time.

"Yes, I can see that," her companion said sardonically. "Still, it's good you're not overdosing on-_hic_- this plum stuff. It's pretty strong, unlike what you're having." He smiled, but it was a little more stretched than usual: both of them were, perhaps, indulging a little too much on the drinks.

She smirked. "Typical Slytherin behavior," she muttered.

"Oh, so what's typical _Gryffindor_ behavior, then?" Snape asked. She had to give it to him. Even when drunk, his ears were as sharp as ever.

She bit her lip and tilted her head to look at him, as though gauging a reaction. Then, without warning, she pressed her lips onto his with such ferocity that he responded. Both became locked in a bone-rattling embrace that soon drew the attention of the entire staff room.

Dumbledore so happened to chance upon the little party at that very moment. He had intended to consult Minerva about the latest article in Transfiguration Today, but upon stumbling upon the spectacle before him, retreated with a grin on his face.

He'd have to thank Rosmerta. Her Firewhiskey _did _really work wonders.


End file.
